Beloved beach

The sand welcomes my tough calloused feet. Gravelly car park to concrete footpath to sand-covered slats descending.

When I reach the end of the path, I turn left, pop down near the dunes and hug my knees to my chest. I watch the surfers bobbing patiently, waiting for a wave, the rays of sunshine streaking down on them through early morning cloud.

Here is where I’ve brought my physical body for exercise. Here is where I’ve brought my emotional body for reckoning. Here is where I’ve unjumbled a tumbled mind. Here is where I’ve tossed out old beliefs, discarded inhibitions, spotted new paths.

Always giving, this beach is. Always holding me afloat, soothing me, clearing the cobwebs away with the breeze.

‘You know what to do.’

Since my feet were soft and delicate, I’ve heard this reassuring refrain as audibly as though it was whispered in my ear, more times than I can count.

All I can offer in return is my returning as often as I can; continuing to seek counsel, revelling in the sea spray, replenishing in the water.

Is my appreciation adequately expressed this way? How about in the way I’ll smile later when I’m rinsing the sand from my hair as puddles of it lie strewn across the tiles? Or in my guaranteed yearning for its touch when I’m hundreds of kilometres away and hankering for its comfort? Surely not, but there it is.